


mystery shack snow globes, $12.99

by rosebarsoap



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grunkle Bunker, Holidays, delicious.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 18:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebarsoap/pseuds/rosebarsoap
Summary: 'twas the night before Christmas, and outside the Shack's walls,Dipper and Mabel return to Gravity Falls.secret santa present for the delightful syfy !





	mystery shack snow globes, $12.99

Dipper is significantly better at driving than Mabel, so he takes the wheel as she stuffs her face with Yumberjacks fries. She’s perfectly happy with this situation, as whenever she learned to drive, she ran over two curbs. “Which is what you’re meant to do,” she (repeatedly) protested. “Grunkle Stan drove like that all the time and never got caught.”  
Speaking of their delightfully dastardly grunkle, both Dipper and Mabel scream like loons as the “Welcome to Gravity Falls” sign flies past their car, the GPS voice on Mabel’s phone cutting through the music telling them to turn left in half a mile. Mabel excitedly chatters to Dipper as they drive by familiar landmarks, but once he turns onto that cobbled road (“In two miles, your destination is on your left: The Mystery Shack”), the car grows silent.  
“What if they’re not there?”  
Mabel stares out the window at the passing pines. Dipper glances at her once, but his eyes stay on the road as his heart sinks in his chest.  
“Mabel— I called Soos and Melody weeks ago to tell them to come back,” he says, his hand leaving his 10-and-2 on the wheel to rub the back of his neck. “I’m sure they would’ve gotten the message by now to come home.”  
“But what if they didn’t, Dipper? What if the boat got swallowed by a whale like in _Pinnochio_? What if they said “no we’re super dooper busy, obviously” and couldn’t make it? What if—?”  
“Hey, hey— It’s gonna be okay. They’ll be there.”  
“Promise?”  
“I promise.”  
He did tell Soos that he and Mabel were visiting for the holidays but wanted to surprise Stan and Ford; Dipper called him a week before Thanksgiving and told him so he could send their Grunkles a letter in enough time. But Mabel had a point, he thinks as he parks up— what if they didn’t get the letter at all?  
As they get their bags out of the trunk, Melody stands at the door with a pair of reindeer antlers atop her head (on a headband, of course), with Soos following soon after in a fluffy red and white patterned sweater (lovingly hand-knitted by his abuelita, _of course_ ). Soos dashes outside and grabs Dipper and Mabel in one of his trademark bear hugs, squashing them lovingly within his knitted arms.  
“Doods! It’s so good to see ya, it feels like it’s been for- _ever_. Mabel, you’re, like, mega tall. Dipper too! But jeez, you were both this small when we met and now it’s been, like, a _million_ years, and—“  
“We missed you too, Soos,” Dipper laughs, “And I’m definitely at least an inch taller than Mabel.”  
“Swap that for “shorter” and you might be onto something.” Mabel wriggles out of Soos’s hug to give one to Melody. “Plus Soos, it’s only been _seven_ years since our first summer here. Definitely not a million— or we’d be super cool immortal people or somethin’.”  
“How wild would that be, huh?”  
“Super wild, dood.” Soos beams, ushering everyone inside before they got covered in snow. Just as Mabel’s about to ask if he managed to get in contact with Stan and Ford, he shushes them with a finger to his lips.  
“Soos, who was at the door? Another one’a them groups of singers or somethin’?”  
That would be a yes.  
“Nobody, Mister Pines!” Dipper and Mabel catch each other’s eye and stifle giggles as they dramatically tiptoe into the living room. Stan’s voice, sourced in the kitchen, mutters about “damn carolers” to another voice—  
“Stanley, they’re spreading the spirit. … But they could with a few less high notes.”  
Ford, of course. Apparently not a fan of carolers either. Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and Melody inch towards the kitchen door and Dipper peeks into the slither of light to find his Grunkles sitting at the kitchen table, twin coffee mugs (ha) in front of them. Mabel scoots under Dipper’s view and cups her hands around her mouth.  
“What a couple of Scrooges you guys are!”  
She catches Ford sit up and look around after her call through the door, Stan deciding that she’s definitely coming from outside and staring through the window.  
“Wh— Melody, was that—?!”  
Mabel busts into the kitchen with a loud “Ta-daaaaah!” and both Stan and Ford shout in shock; she’s shortly followed by Dipper, who makes a significantly less loud entrance. Stan and Ford stare at them both, eyes wide and eyebrows disappearing behind their glasses, before all four of them rush into a giggly Pines Hug Pile on the linoleum tile.  
“I didn’t think you would be here!”  
“That’s called a _surprise_ , Great Uncle Ford!”  
“Pfft, ya little smartass— Ow! Geez, Mabel, you got strong—“  
“Surprise!!”  
They gradually stand up and give proper hugs, including Soos and Melody, before relocating to the (newly renovated) living room. Stan’s sunshine-yellow recliner sits in the corner and a long leather sofa takes over most of the room— along with multiple doilies strewn across surfaces and a lone shelf of action figures. Stan takes pride of place in his recliner and settles into the worn cushions as everyone else squashes into the sofa, save Ford, who remains standing at the door-frame.  
“Didn’t think you kids would make it this year, what with your fancy new schedules and friends and whatever,” Stan comments, arching a brow at the younger Pines twins. “You’re, what, twenty-five now?”  
“ _Eighteen_ , Grunkle Stan!” Mabel rolls her eyes, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “We’re not as ancient as you guys yet.”  
“It’s just senior year of high school, y’know.” Dipper laughs, but there’s a twinge of nerves to the end of it. Ford notices, giving him a reassuring smile.  
“Well, you are both getting older... But you still have all the time in the world.”  
“Heh, look at us— we didn’t figure our sh—stuff out til we were pushing seventy.” Stan grins at Ford, who rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “You two are babies in comparison to us.”  
“And hey, it’s the holidays! Let’s not talk about the inevitable future for now— Soos and I have presents—“  
Melody hops up and digs under the couch— four small boxes appear from beneath, surprisingly free of cobwebs and invading dust bunnies.  
“They’re only small, but... we thought you guys would like them.”  
She hands them out to each respective present-unwrapper and they dig into them, tearing paper and unveiling—  
“Omigosh, snow globes! Where did y— wait, mine has a teeny pig in it— oh, Waddles!”  
Upon closer inspection, each snow globe is handmade with each family member in mind: Dipper’s has a Bigfoot figurine standing in the blizzard, wearing a Santa hat; Ford’s contains a tiny sailboat braving a tiny snowstorm; and Stan’s is a... pterodactyl flying through (dashing through) the snow.  
“I picked yours out for ya, Mister Pines!”  
“Heh, I figured you had somethin’ to do with this one, Soos.”  
“Melody, did you make these?” Ford asks, turning his snow globe upside-down and watching the flakes fall. “They’re incredibly well-made.”  
“Ah, well… I dabble in crafty stuff every so often.” She smiles bashfully as Soos swings an arm around her shoulders and chatters about her “sick glueing skills, doods”.  
Stan says “she got it from me” and Dipper snorts. Sure she did.  
Melody and Soos wish the Pines family well as they stuff their respective bags into her car. Portland, thankfully, isn’t that far of a drive, but Soos still has an entirely separate bag filled with snacks for the road. Watching their car pull out of the driveway and into the evening light (and thankfully _not_ skid on the ice), the four of them wave before realizing it’s actually just three— Mabel is just _gone_.  
“She didn’t sneak into their car, did she?”  
“No, she was here next to me a second ago… Mabel, where— _AUGH_ —“  
Dipper’s interruption yell comes alongside Mabel stuffing a handful of snow down his shirt collar.  
“Gotcha! Now what’cha gonna— Eugh, Grunkle _Staaaan_ , my hair—!!”  
And thus, the long-awaited snowball fight begins. Teams immediately divide— Mabel and Ford, Dipper and Stan— and they hide behind various obstacles in the Mystery Shack parking lot, devising strategies to wreck the opposing pair of twins. Mabel and Ford start building up their arsenal as Dipper helps Stan pack nearly all of the snow behind the eagle pole into one giant snowball. The latter gets to rolling it behind Ford and Mabel’s hideout (he’s stealthy, he says, as his knuckles crack loud enough to shake snow off the roof) as the former throws smaller, less conspicuous snowballs at Mabel and Ford’s heads.  
“You can’t beat us, Dipper! We’re Team Alpha Twin, older and taller and _way_ cooler than you and Grunkle Stan combined!”  
“You know, I think you’re right.”  
Team Alpha Twin turn 180 to find Stan looming above them with a snowball the size of Waddles— which he promptly drops upon their heads, the snow crumbling over their hair and making Ford yelp with the shock.  
“You two are _definitely_ way cooler than us.”  
— — — — —  
For Dipper, being back in the attic bedroom is a peculiar feeling. Mabel snores in her bed at his left, but he sits above the covers on his bed and stares out the window, unable to sleep. It’s not that he’s not slept there on previous visits, it’s just… This time feels different, he supposes, tugging at his socks and swinging his feet onto the ground.  
Water. Water will help.  
He pads down the stairs in an attempt to stay quiet, but as he reaches the bottom he realizes he won’t be alone in the kitchen. The light spreads onto the hallway flooring in a beam of off-yellow, Stan and Ford’s voices coming from behind the wall. Dipper waits for an appropriate silence before turning the corner into the kitchen, and they look up at him simultaneously.  
“Hey, Dipper— didn’t you and Mabel go to bed?”  
“Couldn’t sleep,” he replies, simultaneous with Ford’s guessing remark. He grabs a glass of water, pulls a chair up and sits between them, parallel to window with a grunkle on each side.  
“Is there something on your mind?”  
Ford leans his forearms on the table’s surface, arching a brow at his nephew.  
“Yeah— I mean, no. I mean— it’s just… Weird.” Dipper takes a mouthful of water and clears his throat. “I feel way older than last time Mabel and I were here, but I still feel like— like a kid, I guess? Like, I’ve been looking at colleges and scholarships and— and stuff, but then yesterday I was talking to Mabel about what we wanted for Christmas like we were little kids again.”  
Stan barks out a laugh. “That’s called growin’ up, kiddo. You can do both.”  
He takes a swig from his drink and leans back in his chair, turning a deaf ear as the legs groan in protest.  
“I remember when Ford ’n me were your age. Hanukkah ‘round the corner and we were thinkin’ about tests and girls and whatever. No time for presents or “festive cheer”.”  
Ford remains silent, but he smiles, ducking his head down to stare into his mug.  
“I remember wondering what happened to us and why we just… Didn’t care about the holidays anymore. Ma said we were growin’ into “strapping young men” or something ridiculous, but Ford mentioned later that—“  
“We were growing up,” Ford finishes. “Growing _older_ , rather. Too old for holiday cheer.”  
“And I said that’s bullshit.”  
“Wh-- _Language_ , Stanley—“  
“Eh, come on, Sixer. The kid’s eighteen, he can handle a _cuss word_.”  
Dipper stifles a laugh behind his palm.  
“As I was sayin’, it’s bullshit, Dipper.” Stan nudges his elbow with a surprisingly warm smile. “You can be as old as us but still get excited for the holidays, yanno? Just ‘cause you’re growin’ up doesn’t mean you have to _grow up_.”  
“Surprisingly eloquent, coming from you,” Ford teases, standing and taking his mug to the sink to wash.  
“Meh, pretty certain Mabel said that at some point. And she got it from TV or somethin’.”  
“Thanks, Grunkle Stan.” Dipper gives Stan a small, grateful smile. “I guess I forgot that I can still do fun things even if I’m getting older.”  
“Of course you can— look at me and Ford!” Stan gets up to swing an arm around Ford’s shoulders. “Took us til now to figure out how to have some damned fun with our lives.”  
“Not that we didn’t get up to nonsense as kids,” he laughs with a shake of his head. “We just get up to that same nonsense now on a boat.”  
“My point is, Dipper, don’t let the looming responsibility of “Adulthood” make you think all you can think about is gettin’ a car and going to college and whatever.”  
“College is important, yes,” Ford adds, “But… Family is important, too.”  
“Never thought I’d hear you say that,” Stan laughs. “Ford’s got a point though. Growin’ up is weird and terrifying, but it doesn’t mean you’re immediately an old fart by the time you turn eighteen. You can still have fun at Christmas.”  
“Heck yeah you can!!”  
As the tornado she is, Mabel bursts into the kitchen and hops into Ford’s abandoned chair, swinging her legs back and forth.  
“Mabel, wh—“  
“I heard you guys downstairs and wanted to join in!” She looks around at the three of them and beams. “What are we talking about?”  
“Nothing you need to be concerned about.” Stan ruffles her hair, chuckling. “Think you’ve got the “growing up without growing old” thing down, sweetie.”  
“I mean, if that means I’ve always got glitter coming out of some part of my face, then yeah!”  
She sneezes. An onslaught of green glitter spurts from her nose before Dipper gets a chance to say “bless you”.  
“Well, if we’re done talkin’ existentialism, I think it’s time for bed.”  
Stan goes to turn the kitchen light off, but before he does, his gaze sticks on the neon clock on the microwave’s interface.  
“Hey— it’s past midnight.”  
“ _Happy Christmaaaaaas_!!” Mabel nearly hops onto Dipper’s back with the force of her hug (and he’s fairly certain he felt something pop back there). The four of them exchange hugs before heading upstairs to their respective rooms, but Dipper falls behind, watching the others— his weird and wonderful family— go off to bed, with visions of sugarplums or something having a party in their heads. Something like that. Dipper smiles, holding onto this moment close.  
“Heh. Happy Christmas.”  
“Dipper, can you make “stop being dramatic” one of your New Year’s resolutions?”  
“Wh— _Mabel_ —!”  
He bolts upstairs after his sister and misses the snow falling outside the frosted windowpane.


End file.
